


Unable to Stay, Unwilling to Leave

by CloudAlevaz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Titanic (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1910s, Angst and Feels, Arranged Marriage, Asshole Sherlock, Class Differences, Consensual Underage Sex, Depression, Eventual Sex, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, First Time, Infidelity, Poor Molly, RMS Titanic, Suicide Attempt, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3107459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAlevaz/pseuds/CloudAlevaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having no other choice but to have an arranged marriage with the daughter of a powerful American congressman, Twenty-two year old Sherlock Holmes boards the RMS Titanic's maiden voyage along with his entourage for his [unfortunately dull] engagement party in Philadelphia. As he plans out how he will go through with something he doesn't want to go through, a rather intelligent young third-class woman catches his interest, thus causing him to convince her and save her life. 17-year-old Molly Hooper plans out her life with new opportunities in America with her best friend Mary, but she faces constant inner struggles that she fears she will never make it by the end of the voyage. </p>
<p>As each day goes by, getting closer and closer to New York, the unlikely pair both make decisions that will change their own lives as well as inspire one another to do things they never would have imagined doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

**_06 January 1912_ **

****

 

            There were many instances where Sherlock Holmes was obedient; though not out of the goodness of his heart, nor to avoid the possible risks that come out of not paying attention to what was said to him. He did so in the belief that it was out of his own will, even if in reality, there was no other choice. His mind was constricted to only thoughts that only he could admire and respect whilst people couldn’t bother to try and understand him. He craved freedom to be like the birds he saw when he took a walk out on the cobbled stony road. He admired the way their wings stretched out far and wide, extending their bodies to make it seem that they were larger than life. In some ways, they were. Some birds were solitary and some formed a flock, but even being together never hindered their freedom. Oh how he craved to be able to fly where his mind told him to, to go places without being followed and to do as he pleased. Unfortunately, to the _other_ birds [family and society] he was young and reckless and had a reputation for doing many likely unpleasing things.

            Despite the avid irritation he would feel when it came to societal pressures and other means, there was always one thing that had the potential to irritate him even more. Birthdays. More specifically, his birthdays. It was unfortunate that birthdays were known to him to be completely unpleasant; nothing ever came out of the span of twenty four hours that Sherlock would be willing to dig into the back of his mind to relive. He clearly remembered when he turned seven that he would be attending a boarding school within the following weeks, breaking him away from the rare bond he had with his mother. It broke his heart and he remembered that was the last time he allowed himself to willingly cry in front of her. When he turned nine, he was given a chemistry set full of interestingly peculiar glass test tubes and slides, only to be accidentally broken the following day. When he turned fifteen, the constraints and liberties of the transition to man were both a blessing and a curse. It made him think unclearly, it made him give in to a feeling he taught himself early on not to give in to: sentiment. He remembered on his fifteenth birthday, he kissed a girl. He didn't love her of course, but he liked her enough to bring himself forward. Her lips were so soft and full, warm and inviting. Unfortunately two months later, her entire family left without a single trace. He wasn't hurt, he wasn't sad, but it left him a sour taste in his mouth.

 

            He had come a long way since then, learning to expect the unexpected, the unlikely and to have the day particularly rueful. He did not care for the significance of celebrating his birthday, since in reality it was nothing more than a yearly reminder that he had one less year to live on this earth. However, he had received a telegram from a man he knew well, one who was slightly large and obnoxiously irritating. His brother was an insufferable sod, always meddling, sticking his fat nose in business that he had no right to be in. Considering his growing interest in British politics, he was a natural at creating and fixing problems, though only those limited to his benefit. Both of the brothers’ intellects combined could topple the world and cause havoc if they so pleased and no one would ever have a single suspicion that it was them. Then again, his own intelligence was subpar and limited according to his older brother, despite Sherlock considering himself a genius who couldn’t be bothered with dull people living dull lives.

            S o when his brother sent him a telegram a day prior, warning the young, curly haired man that he was long overdue for a visit to his flat share on the busy road of Baker Street, Sherlock grew ill. Not in the physical or emotional sense, but more of a mental and psychological reminder that there was something critical that the implacable politician needed to discuss with him. Sherlock learned over the years that a single telegram after weeks and months of no communication was a form of a threat to control little bits of his life and he found himself groaning and wondering what it could be this time. He didn’t understand why he still bothered to listen to his brother, or even consider giving him the time of day. The politician had him well trained and conditioned, it made Sherlock sick and repulsed by the sudden realization of what he had made himself to be.

            As Sherlock mentally prepared for the displeasing event, his flat mate was getting himself dressed for the day as he half-heartedly searched for his medical bag.

            “Holmes,” the short, sandy haired man, who was slightly older than his blunt flat mate, called out when he realized Sherlock was doing something he rarely did: taking time to make tea. His brows furrowed, a look of curious concerned washed over his mustached face. “Are you expecting someone?”

            Sherlock’s actions observed by his flat mate made the muscles off the corner of his lips move upwards. “You’re finally putting your skillful eyes and usually plain mind to proper use. I must say I’m thoroughly impressed,” The man teased as he carried the tea set to the aging wood side table that settled between the two armchairs that they each claimed a couple months prior. “However you’re entirely correct, Watson. The government is paying a visit and I’m offering a lazy attempt of a bribe to have him at least reconsider whatever task he’ll be forcing me to complete.”

            “And you don’t think your brother is coming to send you good health and good wishes on your birthday?” The doctor inquired, raising an eyebrow at him in suggestion.

            “I pay no such attention or care to annual reminders that death is much more imminent than the year before. Think of it as a clock’s bells sounding when it hits twelve, the bells at the churches ring for a minute or so.  The twelve represented the day of his birth, the minute represented the full twenty-four hours that bell rings, reminding you of the place.” Sherlock responded dully, rolling his eyes. “And he pays no attention either. He had warned me years ago if such thing were to occur, then I would have the full liberty to strike him in the face. Hmpf. As if I ever needed his _blessing_ to do so anyway.”

            The man chuckled at the response. “You might be surprised,” he suggested.

            “I would prefer it if I wasn’t,” he shot back.

            “And Mrs. Hudson? I’m sure she did wish you a good birthday even if you reminded her not to.” John asked. Knowing their landlady, he was most likely correct.

            “Unfortunately,” he drawled with a half-mocked face of irritation. “She prepared me a cake and homemade biscuits that she knew I couldn’t refuse. Though she tried to get me interested in her daughter, _again_. She has an impeccable record of failure.”

            “Didn’t she say her daughter was in Florida?”

            “Yes. Apparently she’ll be paying her a visit in the spring after she vacations in France next month. It’ll give the flat some quiet time for a few months,” Sherlock replied before taking a bite of his biscuit.

            “Is she finally stepping outside of Baker Street? I have heard she hasn’t left London in years. Mycroft better be careful, England will fall before we know it,” the doctor joked as he finally retrieved his medical bag that was under the clutter his flat mate covered it with. He sighed, remembering he left the bag in clear view just the day before.

            “So it would seem. Maybe that’s the reason he’s on his way, to ask me to put it back together again,” he said with a light shrug, joking, though he’d not be surprised if his brother actually did.

            “Unlikely, brother mine, but in the event that it should occur, I will be sure to take Dr. Watson’s advice and follow through with that,” the cryptic, cold voice of Mycroft Holmes said as he perfectly and effortlessly chimed in without notice. He was as tall as his brother, maybe slightly taller by a centimeter or two. He was a bulky man, heavier than his slim younger brother, with a long, almost crooked nose with a cynical face that could kill (very much like his brother’s odd, yet handsome long face). He was just shy of thirty years, but his imposing presence made it seem as if he were forty or fifty. He held a delicate black umbrella with a bamboo handle in one hand, half leaning on it whilst carrying a chestnut colored suitcase in the other.

            “Not yet—“

            “You are doing your residency at St. Bartholomew’s, you’ve received your basic license to practice general medicine so in the eyes of the legal system, you are finally what your title rightfully suggests.” The elder Holmes said in a swift motion, interrupting the doctor’s humble objection.

            “Good to see you too, Mycroft Holmes…”

            Sherlock gave a very annoyed sigh. “Do let the man go, he’s already six and a half minutes late and if you hold him in much longer I don’t think he’ll make it to the hospital on time,” Sherlock suggested casually as the man in question looked at his pocket watch then dashed out the door, the two brothers now at each other’s mercy. Mycroft let himself in, the grip on his umbrella loosening before he took a seat on the crimson colored armchair.

            “I don’t know how you can manage on living like this, in a small flat, _sharing_ it no less,” Mycroft began as he poured himself some tea since he knew his brother’s rarely shown hospitality had its limits. “You don’t even need to have help pay for it if you manage the money you get from your trust fund properly.”

            “Oh, the same trust fund you’re not allowing me complete access and control for fear I might do something extraordinarily stupid or irresponsible?” Sherlock asked knowingly. “Oh yes, there’s always a reason for my decisions and actions, though I know you find thathard to believe.”

            “No, I can believe you have a reason for all that you do but I elect not to, since said reasons are usually unjustifiable,” Mycroft shot back plainly before taking a solid sip of his tea, and oh, it was actually quite good too. “And you know this won’t change anything,” he reminded him, pointing at the tea and pastries.

            “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Sherlock said nonchalantly before standing to retrieve his elegant violin and bow that was neatly tucked into their soft case.

            “Well in that case, this will make things more interesting,” the man replied before taking another sip, watching his younger brother hold his violin so delicately, like his own child, as he sat back down. “As you know, I’ve been working closely with the politicians across the pond in an attempt to bring forth a treaty of peace and promise of alliance between the two countries. We are now in a stalemate though, as negotiations are getting us nowhere. Getting in the good books of certain persons is vital, as it’ll help the promise of prosperous commerce not only between here and there but also between the Holmes line and the Haskins—”

            “You’re referring to the Congressman James Haskins? That steel tycoon from Pittsburg?” Sherlock asked with a raised brow. The Haskins’ had several steel mills located in various ports that helped supply cheaper materials for ship building, as well as labor for the working class. They weren’t nearly as wealthy as the Astors, though they were still one of the wealthiest families.

            “Yes him,” Mycroft nodded as he observed the young man pluck a tune on the strings with his fingers. “He’s close to closing most of his mills here for elsewhere, saying it’s more expensive to maintain them here than he likes to pay, and that the White Star and Cunard aren’t making enough profits, nor the shipbuilders in Belfast.” He paused as he brought his briefcase up to his lap. “But I have found a solution to that and to the one at home.”

            “What? Bribe him with a single payment as a form of benefit to keep him here?” Sherlock guessed lazily as he raised an eyebrow at him. “Cut people’s pay? Make them work more hours to meet their old wage in insufferable conditions?”

            “No, not quite. More of an insurance agreement, no need to cause more riots or strikes than we can afford to have,” Mycroft responded dully as he pulled out a file. “His daughter is the only heir he has to his amassed fortune and she’s of age and in search of a husband . He’s looking for a fine family, a bachelor.”

            It took several moments for Sherlock to take in the information and process it and laughed. “Are you honestly planning to leave your wife and marry a young woman that’s almost ten years your junior?”

            “No, Sherlock. I’m not going to marry anyone. _You_ will.” Mycroft said plainly, waiting for the penny to drop as he looked at his brother expectantly.

            Sherlock’s eyes fluttered, his expression astounded, before he furrowed his eyebrows in irritated confusion. “Me? Why on earth would I ever want to marry a pompous, egotistical and most likely self-absorbed princess heiress?”

            “It’s not about whether or not you want to, your opinion on the matter is not enough for you not to follow through with this,” his brother responded casually, which caused Sherlock to tense up and lose his track in the melody he played on his violin.

            “What use or benefit is there to put me through this? Weren’t you the one that oh so gladly informed me that marriage is a quaint legal binding of human error, and then went ahead and did just that?” Sherlock shot in his defense, unable to restrain himself as their conversation went in further and further into territory he didn’t want to breach.

            “Marrying Congressman Haskins’ only daughter will give security that you’ll receive control of your trust fund since you failed to remember that in order for that to happen, you must have a wife to take your name. Every male in the Holmes line for the past six generations would automatically become a bachelor at eighteen to be married off to a woman from a reputable and wealthy family. Father married mother, who’s very intelligent and we owe that to her and Uncle Rutherford married as well before he was condemned. It is only us that are left in the line once our father passes. You’re the only one who did not marry right away and I would hate to disappoint Mummy and bring the family dishonor. There’s too much for you to lose and maybe marriage could fix whatever nonsense you keep insisting on believing in doing.” Mycroft explained carefully and clearly.

            Sherlock only closed his eyes, counting his breaths as he replied tensely. “It isn’t any nonsense, My—”

            “You decided to go into Chemistry and now you’re a graduate chemist, surprisingly. Congratulations by the way for actually remaining in Cambridge for your whole degree without dropping. Did the seven percent solution really help you focus?” Mycroft gave a brief pause as if he’d let Sherlock respond to that. “You want to solve puzzles as a career and you need something that will bring stability in your life, not add more chaos than you’re barely able to handle. How do expect yourself to bring income to feed your children and support your wife if you didn’t have millions of pounds under your name?”

            “And if—”

            “I will have people keep an eye on you. They’re competent enough to follow my orders and track your movements if you decide to move off the radar. If you create more bolt holes, it would only be a matter of time before I figure out what they are.” Mycroft ensured him before taking another sip of his tea. “My wife does as she pleases and runs the manor when I’m not there. I don’t see her often but she’s content where she is. I’m fond of her and she doesn’t bore me. I would have you have the same thing. I did not realize the effect of marriage, whether I wanted it or not, would have on myself and I’m sure it’ll have that same effect on you. Mother is worried for you and you know your little adventures in breaking societal norms always upsets her.”

            “ _I_ upset her? _Me_?” Sherlock asked, appalled as he glared at him in disbelief. “You’re having the time of your life picking the little strands to try and control me like a marionette. Always finding the perfect way to hold me down, Mycroft.”

            “That’s what you may think, brother mine, but I worry for you as well, whether you choose to believe it or not,” Mycroft replied with an exhaustive sigh.

            Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the reason his blood pressure was increasing. He was trying to live a simple life away from the wealth and even after attempting to live on his own with his own means, his name came back looking for him. This wasn’t the life he wanted to live; he didn’t have the patience for social events, grand balls, spending money like it was nothing, discussing how wealthy they were and discussing how to help the underprivileged over tea. It was pathetic to see it all around him, the same useless, time-wasting way of living.

            Marrying someone was something to which he strongly objected. His main focus was his mind and how to improve his thinking, how to better store useful information whilst getting rid of items that he didn’t need. To have a wife, to have no other choice but to do as his brother told him, would be giving up everything he was currently working hard to avoid. The Holmes’ were an extremely wealthy family whose name always appeared in newspapers involving gossip and politics. They were a powerhouse and Sherlock knew Mycroft was telling the truth.

            It wasn’t the fact that he wouldn’t get his trust fund if he didn’t marry that bothered him, it was the fact that he wasn’t in control of what was rightfully his, no matter what the subject at hand was. It wasn’t the fact that he wanted to keep tradition and follow through with this that irritated him, it was the fact that further disappointment from his parents and family (and by extension the public) was something he didn’t need. He was twenty-two, why in God’s name did he need a wife? He was young and he wanted to explore the world without being followed or traced from a fair distance away. He chose to believe accepting the marriage proposal was his sole choice, even if that was the only choice he had. That was all the control he was able to retrieve in his life at that moment. With a discontent sigh, he shifted and stood up in order to return his violin back in its case before walking up to his bright mirror. “I would assume you didn’t forget any minute detail?” Sherlock asked casually, evading the actual confirmation of agreement.

            “You assume correctly,” Mycroft agreed formally and went back to business as he skimmed through his papers. “As you know, everyone expects the absolute best out of Holmes’ weddings and everyone who is anyone will be at the feast. Mr. Haskins only expects the best for his daughter and that is what she’ll get. You two will have sufficient time to get acquainted before your engagement party at the end of April in Philadelphia. Mother and Father will be attending the ceremony here in London when the two of you return from America in early May.” He explained as he handed his brother vital information pertaining to the gala though it took Sherlock a moment to see that and quickly snatched the papers to observe them himself.

            “And travel? Even that would end up being catalogued by the press. _Mauretania_?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked over the details.

            “Unfortunately not, brother, despite the grand exquisiteness of what the _Mauretania_ has to offer, you will travel with even more class and luxury,” he said as he looked into his briefcase for a particular piece of paper.

            “There’s nothing faster available in the Cunard fleet,” Sherlock said to him, puzzled.

            “You’re falling behind on the news, Sherlock. I’m sure paying attention to current events prove little interest to you,” Mycroft replied, finally finding the ad before handing it to him. “The White Star Line is building three Olympic-class ships; said to be the fastest and largest ships ever built and with that come with even greater luxury for passengers. This one in particular is suspected to make history. She’s still under construction, but she is expected for sea trials in the beginning of April.”

            Sherlock took the piece of paper with the long title of: “[WHITE STAR LINE: FIRST SAILING OF THE LATEST ADDITION TO THE WHITE STAR FLEET, THE QUEEN OF THE OCEAN _TITANIC_](http://clickamericana.com/wp-content/uploads/titanic-flyer-1912.jpg).”  It had descriptions of the ships size and weight as well as the time it would arrive leave New York on April 20. He looked sternly at it and was thoroughly impressed though he had no particular interest of bigger and better ships since the only purpose, to him, was to get people to point A to point B. “And you actually believe it’ll get there as quickly as it promises?” he asked, a little unbelieving at that.

            “I would expect so,” Mycroft murmured. “It’ll be the perfect way to go out and fully promote this wedding.”

            “You’ll be going too?” Sherlock asked as he still looked at the paper before putting everything down in a neat pile.

            “Yes. I have a few business meetings planned with the U.S. Ambassador between now and then, but I’m also curious. However, passes will be available for sale in March, but of course the only job you need to worry about is marrying Miss Haskins,” Mycroft explained, gathering his things for his departure.

            “I do hope you won’t make me regret this, Mycroft.” Sherlock warned him with a deep glare, turning his head to meet the older man who was now at the door.

            “Marriage will change you, and love will too in ways that you can’t expect. Miss Haskins will be lucky to have a handsome, intelligent man for a husband even with the eccentricities you possess,” Mycroft said with finality, before turning on his heel to leave 221b Baker Street. “Oh, and dear brother, any happy returns on your birthday, twenty two should be just as interesting as your twenty first!”

            Sherlock scoffed at that, finding that extremely hard to believe that love ~~,~~ would be able to change him at all. With his birthday already settled in to be one of the worst ones he’s had, he felt nothing could top a forced engagement and arranged marriage news.


	2. Southampton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly Hooper prepares for her long journey ahead with her best friend, Miss Mary Morstan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, school has been tough, but I've had this chapter written out for months that I haven't gotten to typing.

**_10 April 1912_ **

 

            April came, full of curiousness and anticipation that could be felt all over Southampton. The world had patiently waited for this day to arrive, on the slightly less warm morning of the tenth.  The port of Southampton received a massive influx of people from all around the European continent, as well as the rest of the world. It was the main port of the White Star Line, though no one would have imagined such a crowd. The star of the show floated calmly on the harbor, with no knowledge of her impending fame . Her fresh paint showed in full color, her massive and impressive size and length was a marvel for all who were able to witness her in sight. The long smokestacks stood tall and proud and the name of this sheer beauty was shown in bright gold letters next to her anchor. The RMS Titanic has become the eighth wonder of the world and every living, breathing soul awaited nervously for her maiden voyage.

            One girl in particular, grew nervous with each pressing second as the hand on the clock across her gaze turned the hand closer and closer to noon. She saw the majestic ship floating right nearby, patiently waiting for her to see her new home for the next seven days. The girl’s head was spinning; she was scared and frightened but she knew deep down that she had very little choice but to continue forward. It was an opportunity that she knew she couldn’t let go of, no matter how long she had been dreaming and planning. It was hard for her to step out of the realm of her dreams into the very reality she was living in. She knew dreams weren’t something she could count on; she made her own hope and chance. Now she waited for that clock to reach twelve as  she knew there was no going back at that point.

            Seventeen-year-old Molly Anne Hooper had been in Southampton for the past four days with her long-time friend, Mary Morstan. Well, technically, she was staying with Mary since all their savings went to  purchasing the tickets. As she went to check her tickets, she was informed that due to several coal-strikes that recently ended just a few days prior, the ship she was meant to board was forced to be docked whilst the coal from that ship was transferred onto the Titanic, as well as herself. For a simple, quick moment, she was frustrated for the simple transfer, though in reality, it made her nerves tingle in excitement. She didn’t have any money to spend four nights in a hotel, but once they gave her two third-class tickets for her second-class ticket, so what was she going to do? She only had a rug sack that contained three dresses, an extra corset, two sets of undergarments, her journal and her pen and a silver pocket watch that she cared for like it was her own child.

            However, Molly always had a smile on her face just in the hope that she could make someone’s day better. She was always cheerful and had a pleasant and lively spirit, always laughing and giggling at the silliest of things. Her presence made everyone comfortable and a bit more relaxed and no one would imagine the type of past she had.

            She had worked for the past three years working to save up money for her new life. The moment she read in the papers that the White Star Line had plans for three ships, she was eager, but knew she’d never be able to afford a passage that way. Molly recognized that there wasn’t anything left in England for her; no family but just one single friend. She had no place to live since she finally left the flat she shared with six other girls, but now there was no turning back. America was just across the pond but her dreams and ambitions to try would eventually pay off. There was nothing left to lose and with Mary joining her in this trip made everything less hectic and nerve-wracking.

           

            The pub was crowded with people taking a few pints before the journey, some just relaxing and enjoying the beauty of watching her float on the harbor. The two young women had entered and Mary had gotten them both a pint before they successfully managed to find a spare spot, right in front of the windows.

            “What do you reckon it will be like?” Mary asked, obviously giddy with excitement.

            “Dark and gloomy?” Molly joked with an exhausted smile. “Maybe it’ll rain just like England? Make it feel more like home?”

            Mary laughed at her and took a sip of her drink, almost scoffing. “Oh please, Molly! It can’t be worse than the dark and gloomy days here, I hope.”

            There was a pause between the two women, both looking at the other before bursting out into a fit of giggles. “Hopefully, wherever we may end up, the job will give us decent pay. I’ve heard a mixture of words in regards to living in America in hopes for a better life.” Molly replied with a light shrug, nervously glancing out into the commotion within and out of the pub.

            “Do you even know where you’ll head after we arrive in New York?” Mary asked, curious, but above all worried.

            Molly shook her head lightly. “Not in the faintest. I don’t have family in America, though I feel our highest chances is visiting an immigrant shelter. What of your uncle? Does he not still live in Santa Monica?”

            “I believe so. He hasn’t set a foot out of that county in ages, but I haven't seen him since he came to visit fourteen years ago. Molly, I doubt you will find what you’re looking for in California.” Mary reminded her, unsure if there was much business or chance for school there.

            “Maybe? People die every single day from every possible way imaginable. I would be ready to take a medical license exam if I could, though I suppose Americans have different regulations than those of here.”  Molly replied, sighing. “All that I am certain of is that I cannot stay here for another godforsaken day either.”

            “Yes, yes, you’re right,” the blonde said, nodding. “My parents are pushing me to find a nice doctor or lawyer to marry. _Please_. These blokes are unimpressive the biggest, unimaginable _no_.”

            Molly giggled at the unappealing face her friend made at that. “You could be surprised; you can end up marrying a nice doctor. If I had the money, I would invest in a solid bet! You have a taste for the intelligence in men.” She said in earnest.

            Mary quirked an eyebrow at her, almost smirking as if she wasn’t lying. “Perhaps,” she responded mischievously. “And you, Molly? Tom wasn’t the brightest star in the sky, but his feelings were more than serious, I take it.”

            Molly couldn’t help but give a soft groan at the mention of Thomas. “And what would you have me done instead? He was too smitten with me. It was nothing more than a childhood romance that would have led us to a dead end.”

            “You’re barely seventeen years of age!” Mary exclaimed at her words.

            “When life puts heavy hardships in your path, you mature quicker than most,” Molly reasoned with a dull frown, knowing that to be true. “There are very few girls out there that have gone through identical or similar life experiences as me, and Mary, not everyone copes the same way after going through so much. There are many differences and –”

            “Oh no, I understand, Molly! Please don’t get with your science tongue, not for reasons you think, but only simply that I barely understand half of what you say.” Mary interrupted, but still felt rude for doing so.

            She only gave a weak smile but knew that she could never tell when she was getting carried away, though she was fairly certain that she hadn’t even broached the start of speaking in scientific terms. A fairly obvious clue that let her know that she was in fact getting carried away, were the faces that resembled genuine confusion or disgust that a young woman was given books to read…to expand her mind. Mary fully support her goals, which was a relief since others did not. “I’m—”

            “No, there is no need for you to apologize, Molly. Never apologize for having a passion and love for what you want to do. I can sense it. Change. Actual change and we will be living—witnessing, pushing those changes and before you know it, you’ll be the scientist or doctor you want to be without the barriers pushing you backwards.” Mary explained expressively, knowing her friend always apologized for the littlest things.

            “I couldn’t agree more,” Molly nodded with a hopeful glance, though her eyes caught the attention of the wooden clock behind the bartender when she realized what it meant. “Yes, and if we don’t leave now, we won’t be able to get that change on the other side of the pond!”

            Molly scurried to get her things together as Mary turned around and saw that they had exactly ten minutes before the ship would depart and set sail. With an undeniable quickness, they both had their possessions with them and dashed out of the pub in record time. Their small but strong lean legs got them through the massive influx of people, though they practically pushed their way through until they spotted their third class entrance.

            “Excuse me sir, just a moment please!” Molly said politely as they walked towards the hatch door, barely catching their breath as they approached the two officers.

            “Have you two young ladies been through the inspection queue?” The young officer asked them as Molly handed their tickets to the other officer.

            “Of course!” Molly said in a cheerful and rather impressive American accent. “My sister here is recovering from a cold, definitely not contagious but she prefers to remain mute in order to conserve her voice.”

            The officer narrowed his eyes and looked at them carefully before glancing at the tickets that the other officer had inspected. “Officer Lowe will personal escort you to the on board clinic to have a check to be sure you’re alright.”

            “This moment?” Molly asked, knowing that’s what her sister would ask.

            “Yes ma’am. He will have her ticket and take her to your designated room.”

            “But we would like to be on deck to see the ship’s departure!” Molly exclaimed, her accent never leaving.

            “I am sorry ma’am, but there’s nothing we can do about that. You will be rejoined with your sister, though I do recommend staying in your room once you find it, that way it’ll be less complicated.” Officer Lowe had said to her in a calm manner. “There is a doctor on duty at the moment and there are no patients that we are aware of, so it should not take more than twenty minutes.”

            Molly glanced at Mary’s direction and she only got a nod of approval, along with a piercing glare that guaranteed a talk later. They were allowed to board the ship and even with the simple white carvings along the ceilings and the walls and the new light fixture that adorned the hallway with the calm red carpet, they both felt like they had stepped into a pool of luxury. There were many passengers going opposite directions in the narrow hallway, but another was exposed as they headed in that direction, going deeper and deeper into the heart of the ship.

            The initial irritation Mary had with Molly faded as both their eyes wandered to every single detail that they could greedily take in. They barely only managed to remember the officer in front of them that lead the way, but thank goodness for the decently loud chatter that enabled them to talk amongst themselves.

            “Go find our rooms, I can manage alone,” she said quickly.

            “Are you certain?” Molly replied, still speaking in her accent just to avoid suspicion.

            “Yes, yes, it’s only a ship. There’s only so many places you can be and I’m a big girl. Do not worry for me.” Mary said in the same hushed tone, though quick. They hugged briefly before Molly ventured out on her own, going the other way and looked at her ticket. B60. It should not be that difficult to search and find it, right?

            She couldn’t help but to marvel at the cleanliness; the white pipes that hung over her head looked pristine, most likely running for miles all around the ship. She had been aboard ferries as a young child, but never had she seen a ship of this grandeur. It certainly didn’t feel like she was aboard a ship, but with the outline of how everything was, little things reminded her that the Titanic was a floating palace.

It was a challenge in itself to find even the proper corridor or even floor to head to her room. It felt like a vastly intricate maze that surprisingly she wasn’t so afraid of. What she was afraid and mostly worried for was for her friend, but the thought soon went away when she realized that she had the biggest feeling Mary was just as awed about the ship as she was. Molly believed like minds thought alike and she knew that they were both very excited about exploring the ship as soon as they were settled in.

With a few bumps against many people like her that were searching for their designated rooms, she finally found it after what it felt like an endless search. With the key she was given, she unlocked it and opened the door. With a quick glance around her, she saw the two sets of bunk beds, one on opposite sides of the room. There were two other women there, though she couldn’t see or determine where they were from without asking. With quick introductions, she realized they were sisters on their way to live with their only brother who lived in the Midwest of America.

With that thought in mind, she thought it was best to wait for Mary anyway, considering the absolute monstrosity of finding her on this larger-than-life ship was definitely against her odds.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be out of the country in a couple weeks for a couple months, but I will write whilst I'm in Mexico visiting family. I won't have much internet access there as I do here, but I will attempt to update at least once. xx

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to set my OTP in this AU, which is based on the movie, Titanic (1997). I cannot guarantee clock-work updates since it takes a lot for me to do a chapter and update. If you liked this first chapter, please let me know. It took me ages just to put this one up because of self doubt.


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